


The Promises we Make.  The Ones we Keep.  The Ones we Break

by Red_Shadow_Wolf_19



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Bottom Alexander Hamilton, Bottom Thomas Jefferson, Character Death, Demonic Possession, F/F, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infidelity, M/M, Multiple Personalities, Murderers, Mystery, Out of Character, Past Child Abuse, Prostitution, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Relationships, the bottom Thomas Jefferson and bottom Alexander Hamilton in the fic will make sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-11-19 09:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11310717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Shadow_Wolf_19/pseuds/Red_Shadow_Wolf_19
Summary: Detective Aaron Burr is tasked with solving a string of ritualistic style murders that lead back to the mysterious musician, Thomas Jefferson.  But over time, Burr finds what is behind the murders is even more shocking.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been floating around my brain for awhile, but it wasn't til now I put my fingers to work and actually making it. Thanks to burrn on Tumblr for the encouragement. 
> 
> Few notes:  
> 1\. New Island City is New York but in an alternate universe. Consider the time period early 19th Century.
> 
> 2\. Thomas and Alexander are three years apart in age instead of the more accurate fourteen. More about the history of these two will be explained later.
> 
> 3\. This is going to be feel trip for both of us. Strap in.

_ “Hey! Hurry up!” _

 

_ “I don’t think we should be doing this…  Slow down!  Let’s turn back.” _

 

_ “Are you scared of the story?” _

 

_ “They say this place is haunted.  They say people died here.  They say  _ **_something_ ** _ still lives here.” _

 

_ “That’s just a story your grandma told you!  Besides we’re here together.  We promised to protect one another.” _

 

_ “I know.   _ **_But what if it’s true?_ ** _ ” _

 

****

 

_ She rushed through the alleyway, skirts up around her waist as she ran with tears and rouge mingling on her cheeks and creating trails on her lovely terrified face.  The sound of her heels echoed up and down the buildings along with panicked pants of breath.  She could almost see the door of the stinking backroom where she had been living these past three years.  The crumbling paint, the rusted handle, the small window where her daughter would peek out as she left for the night… _

 

_ She could almost see her daughter’s cherub face and little hand waving at her... _

 

_ There was no sound of her pursuer, but she knew he was there, behind her and close.  It was the instinctual feeling that every prey animal feels when they are being chased.  If the deer is fast enough, it is safe.  If the rabbit makes it to it’s burrow, it is safe.  If she makes it home, she is safe. _

 

_ A loose cobblestone trips her and she skids to the ground.  She tries to stand and continue, but her feet catch in her dress and she falls once more.  She sobs, screaming into the night, hoping someone will hear her.  Anyone will hear her.  Someone should hear her.  But it’s just one more noise to ignore in the city.  One more thing that parents reassure their children about.   _

 

_ It’s probably nothing… _

 

_ There are audible footsteps.  Slow, deliberate footsteps getting closer.  She crawls as she cries, praying prayers she had long forgotten and whispered saint names she had once cursed.  She implored angels and the Holy Virgin Mother.  Yet the footsteps continued. _

 

_ She began to whisper the names of those who gone ‘missing’ before her, as they could protect her from their fate.  They had been friends, fellow workers of the Trade.  The girls that society doesn’t think about until they’re either at their door with baby in their belly or being fished out of the river without their heart.   _

 

_ She let out a sob and continued to crawl, trying to get away, trying to get home.  But she, as well as her pursuer, knew it was over.  It was only a matter of time.... _

 

*****

The best time to be a private investigator in New Island City was the summer.  To be fair, there was nothing like summer in the city.  But for an investigator it was a paradise.  Men and women coming in with suspicions that their spouses were being unfaithful.  Crime was more frequent than during the rest of the year, and the police would hand over older and colder cases to be solved to avoid even the appearance of a crime wave.  And to top it all off, high society would pay handsomely just to make sure they were breaking bread with ‘the right kind of people.’

 

The worst time to be a private investigator in New Island City?  The beginning of the summer.  Most people were blissfully unaware of their spouse cheating at the moment.  The police had yet feel the heat from the local press who was usually the one’s who stirred up mass panic.  And most of the wealthy in the city were planning their first large parties and galas, where god forbid, they invited new, old, and no moneyed people without looking into them first.  

 

The resulting lack of things to investigate made days of going into work drag on for detectives .

 

John Laurens sighed for the fifth time this particular day and for the third time this particular hour.  Aaron Burr glanced up from the book he was reading downstairs from their shared office to the younger man.

 

“If you’re that bored, you can go home early,” he said coolly, but not unkindly. 

 

John looked sheepishly at that.  This after all was more of a hobby for him than for Aaron.  “I don’t want to leave you here all alone, especially if there is a slim chance someone could come in.”

 

“Don’t worry about me,” the former held up the book he was holding and waved it over to the small stack beside him, “I’m sure _Fall of Rome_ _and other Empires_ volumes two through five will be enough to keep me company and out of trouble.”

 

“But not out of my way!” came the voice of Hercules Mulligan from the back of the shop they were currently obstructing.   _ Mulligan Tailor _ was on the ground floor of the three story building the three shared.  The second floor were the personal quarters of Hercules and Aaron, though for weeks at a time Aaron could and would be hosted by the wealthier individuals of the city.  The third floor were the offices that usually John and Aaron would be occupying, busily at work on some case or writing and practicing testimony for trials they were asked to be a part of.  But on days like this, when there was none of that to do, the two found themselves resting on the more comfortable settees of Hercules Mulligan and taking absolute advantage of their friend’s hospitality.

 

That friend came out of the back room carrying several bolts of cloth, looking irritated and more like a boxer than the best tailor in the city with his thick, stocky build and set jaw.  “You both should go upstairs or to a pub and get out of my hair.  You’re scaring away my customers!”

 

“HA!  What customers?!  You’ve been suffering from the same problem as us!  Nobody wants a new dress yet!”  John grinned.

 

“Or maybe they see you two layabouts drinking my tea and eating my cakes, and think about going somewhere else,” Hercules growled.

 

The young freckled man just laughed and shook his head, his curly hair wagging in the ponytail he had it bound in.  “You would be bored senseless if it wasn’t for us being here.”

 

“Or richer.”

 

“What customer is going to turn their nose up at the best tailor shop in all of New Island City with the best detectives of New Island City enjoying tea and cake inside?”

 

“I think our dear Hercules was hoping for some alone time with a particular customer.  The visiting Marquis de Lafayette,” Aaron hummed, a sly grin sliding along his features.

 

The tailor blushed and fussed with the fabric in his arms as John gaped at him.  “You are joking!  You’re wanting us to leave so you can flirt with-”

 

“Not flirt!” Hercules squawked, adding abashedly, “Maybe ask if he would like any company the next time he goes to the opera.”

 

The small bell at the front of the shop dinged saving the Irishmen from further embarrassment.  The three men looked around at the door, hopefully.  Theodosia Prevost, Aaron and John’s secretary, frowned back at them making her lovely face look severe and cold.

 

“As much as I would love to think it is, I am guessing this is not a welcome party for me,” she said, entering the shop laden with envelopes and papers.

 

“You’re late,” quipped Aaron, immediately focusing on his book as though the presence of the woman had just reminded him of it’s existence.

 

“A thousand apologies, Master Aaron,” Theodosia said with much sarcasm and exaggeration as she gave a half hearted curtsey, “I didn’t know that there was a case that was so pressing!”

 

“There could have been,” Aaron shot back, receiving a snort from both Hercules and John at how feeble it sounded.

 

“And Christ could have come back again.  But both have yet to happen today, so if you excuse me, I am going to drop a few of these things on your desk so you can deal with them when you are not so overwhelmed.”  And with that the tall elegant woman had made her way to the back of the store and up the flight of stairs to the third floor.

 

“When you finally get up the courage to marry that girl, you both are going to kill one another with your barbed tongues,” Hercules warned, raising his eyebrow at the younger quiet man who was fidgeting with the spine of his book.

 

“I don’t know what you mean good sir, you forget yourself,” Aaron said smoothly, though both of his companions snickered.

 

A few minutes later, Theodosia reappeared clutching a newspaper and handing it over to the tailor with an elegant flourish as she sat on the cushioned stool as far away from the older detective as possible.   “You’re about to get an influx of customers Hercules,” she announced, motioning to the paper as she began to pour herself a cup of tea.

 

“Wait, why?” John asked as the tailor gave out an appreciative whistle as he read.  The freckled man stood, looking anxious, as he moved forward to read the paper.  The paper was given to the other detective, much to his annoyance.

 

“‘Famed musician, composer, and socialite Thomas Jefferson is settling in New Island City.  Mayor and Governor candidate George Washington plans welcome gala with Marquis de Lafayette playing host.’” Aaron read, passing the paper to the now less annoyed John.  “Well, knock on wood that Mr. Jefferson picks us to check into his new staff.”  He rapped his knuckles on the small table in front of him to demonstrate his point.

 

“I’ve never heard of this ‘famed Thomas Jefferson,’” John sniffed as he read the paper.

 

“When was the last time you went to the theater that didn’t involve someone stripping?” Theodosia asked, her eyes narrow as she peered at the man hiding behind the paper.

 

“I...I..”

 

“I thought as much,” the secretary said into her tea cup.  She sighed, putting down her cup thoughtfully.  “He picked the best time to move here, didn’t he?”

 

Everyone hummed their agreement.  There was nothing like summer in the city.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? Concerns? Suggestion? Weird thought you want to share? Comment and/or stop by my tumblr (same name as here)

“You have not heard of ‘ _ The Last Butterfly _ ’?!  What about ‘ _ Her Heartbeat at Twilight _ ’?” 

 

John shook his head, looking mildly ashamed and mildly like a cornered animal.  Which he was.  He had been backed into row of shelves with fabric by two advancing foreigners, their eyes intent on the defective as they interrogated him.  The young man looked over to his companions for help, but only received looks of amused mock concern. 

 

Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette, or simply Lafayette to most, shook his head in exaggerated disbelief.  “I thought you were a man of culture, Laurens!  To not hear of any the great Thomas Jefferson’s best works it is, how you say?” he looked over to his female companion, the lovely  Marie Adrienne Françoise de Noailles.

 

“A travesty,” Adrienne purred, fixing the younger man with a heated stare.

 

“Our John doesn’t get to the theater as much as some,” Aaron explained, finally taking pity on the boy.  The young man looked like he was about to have a heart attack!  “I usually keep him very busy.”

 

“No excuse!” the foreigner said dramatically, before adding in a conspiratorial matter.  “The man is a genius!  We are lucky to have one such as he in our community.  He only very really lives somewhere if there is a vibrant enough theater seen.  I feared after we lost Prima Dona Charlotte we would never see the likes of Jefferson but here he is!”  At this Lafayette smiled like cat with cream.  “And I’m going to host him!”

 

“You and Mr. Washington,” reminded the older detective.

 

The foreigner waved a hand dismissively.  “A shared spotlight is still a spotlight.  And besides, Adrienne and I shall sparkle in with attire from the best tailor in all of New Island City, non?”

 

Hercules, who had been retrieving the lady’s impressive evening gown from the back and just returned, blushed scarlet at the compliment.  “You flatter me, Marquis.”

 

“It is not flattery!”  It is the truth!” the Marquis in question quipped back, an edge of seduction to his voice.

 

Aaron watched the exchange with a small smile.  It was obvious to all in the room, except probably Hercules and Lafayette, that the two were madly in love with one another.  Cursed though with Lafayette’s habit of flirting nature and Hercules’s natural shyness, the two seemed at a deadlock.  It was rather amusing.

 

Almost as amusing as Lafayette talking about the famous Thomas Jefferson, the famed travelling musician and composer.  The foreigner was a gossip, with a natural talent towards storytelling.  The simple piece of trivia that his Great Aunt was Jefferson’s grandmother, had taken fifteen minutes to impart, as well as small parts of twisting family genealogy that was the Lafayette line.  Explaining how after years of people offering to buy the property off of her, it was this Mr. Jefferson, who had bought the Widow Ross’s house on the road leading out of the city had been dramatically reenacted complete with voices and Adrienne playing the role of the widow herself.

 

Even when flirting, the Marquis could not help dramatically add, “I doubt Mr. Jefferson would see such lovely works of arts such as you make in Atlantic City.”

 

“Atlantic City?  I thought he was from the Queen State?” John frowned, having gotten over being pinned in for his lack of knowledge.

 

“Originally, oui,” Adrienne explained, “But apparently he lost inspiration and left his family home to his brother and began to traveling.  He never stays in anyone place for long.  At most two years.  But whenever he settles, you can be sure that he will debut a new song or two within a few months.  It will be a great boost to our fair city to even have him here for only one year!  But if we welcome him kindly, and dazzle him…”

 

“You two are hoping you can convince him to live here permanently,” Aaron could see the appeal, especially for socialites like the two foreigners.  Yes, the two were not only his dear friends and two of his best clients, but the two were the cliche workshy partygoers that poor often thought of when they thought of the elite.  Lafayette may work in the Foreign Office of New Island City, but one could hardly say he worked  **in** the office with how he avoided the building.  And Adrienne’s occupation helping run local charity institutions seemed a clever way for the young attractive woman to spend most of her time sliding in and out of every social gathering that the city had to offer.  There was no greed or malice behind these two, or least not that Aaron could detect.  They were simply being who they were: two people who would want an internationally known musician in their periphery.

 

To their credit, both Lafayette and Adrienne fixed the detective with a look of mild shock and dismay at his suggestion.  But neither denied it.

 

“Well I hope, for John and I, you will put in a good word with Mr. Jefferson when it comes to hiring a new staff.  I’m sure he will need them thoroughly vetted.”

 

“Oh Mr. Jefferson travels with his serving staff,” Lafayette explained cheerfully.  “He is very particular.”  Then, affecting an air of sadness, he added, “Mr. Jefferson’s husband is a very ill man.  Training a new staff with every move would be too much of a hardship.”

 

“He has an ill husband, and he still moves around like he does,” Theodosia tutted disapprovingly.

 

“I’m sure Mr. Jefferson knows what he is doing,” Adrienne cut in, “Besides, his husband is creative and well known in his own right.  Have you heard of the author, Alexander Hamilton.”

 

That made John stand up straighter.  “Have I?!  His books are some of my favorites!  The fantasy!  The magic!  The romance!  The,” he blushed crimson as he muttered, “sex.” 

 

Theodosia rolled her eyes but only said, “Talent attracts talent I suppose.  Shame that we can’t help them find a new staff.  I’m sure John would love to met Mr. Hamilton and I wouldn’t have objected to meeting Mr. Jefferson.”

 

“Oh but you still can!” the Marquis said, a smile breaking out onto his handsome face.  “I’m inviting you four to our little Welcoming Gala for Mr. Jefferson.  I have already asked the maestro himself if he would play us a few songs before dinner proper, and I am sure we can get him to play some during the dessert course.  Oh!  It will be lovely!”

 

“F-four?  Do you m-mean me as well?” Hercules stuttered as he fidgeted with Lafayette’s outfit he had brought from the back room.  For one who looked so physically fit, the idea of being invited to a party seemed to leave him in near panic.  

 

“Of course!” Lafayette purred.  “I want to show off the best that New Island City has to offer.  From the shops, food, nightlife, and  **people** .”

 

 

****

 

Elizabeth Ross had once been the wealthiest women in New Island City, back when her husband had been alive.  Her home a mile outside of the city’s limits had been the envy of all, with it’s four stories, spacious ballroom, large windows that took in both the front and back gardens, and a game and entertainment parlor that emptied out onto a balcony the front walkway.  Since his death, and her son’s careless business dealings however, the widow could barely afford to pay a staff to maintain the place, let alone entertain.  By the time Thomas Jefferson had made an offer on the old mansion, the old hag was living and using only the bottom story with a housekeeper and one chambermaid who was robbing her blind.  The many of the rooms that had once been the envy of the whole state, were sealed up and mostly filled with unused furniture.  The front gardens were overgrown and the windows needed either to be cleaned or replaced.  The place in several rooms smelled of mold and cat urine were strays had made their home unbeknownst to the Good Widow Ross.

 

But Thomas had made worse real estate choices and the old lady had let it go for nearly nothing.  And it was far away from the prying eyes of the city.

 

At the moment, Thomas overlooking the expense accounts of the rejuvenations for the rest of the house.  The first floor had been done before he and his household ever stepped foot in New Island City, thanks to his right-hand-man and lawyer, James Madison.  The second floor was only half completed and the third floor was only a quarter.  The famed fourth floor had yet to even be touched.  Despite his dislike of social gatherings, they had arrived at the onset of the social season in this new place.  And as much as it pained him, the musician knew that people would expect him to host a few parties.  Things must be done.  And quickly.

 

There was a knock on the study door and Elizabeth Schuyler glided in, her lovely face a mask of professionalism.  “He’s asking to see you,” she said, her voice soft.

 

Thomas frowned in concern.  “How is he?”

 

“He’s mostly in good spirits, but he seems upset because he feels he’s hit a dead end in writing at the moment.”

 

“It will pass.  Has  **he** …”

 

“No.” 

 

Pushing himself up from the desk he had been working at, the tall man sighed more out of force of habit than annoyance.  “Where is he?”

 

“The parlor,” Eliza gave a small fond smile.  “He likes looking at the garden.”

 

The halls of the mansion were dark, even during midday.  Widow Ross had not seen the need to put in gas lamps because of the large windows that were a feature of most of the gathering rooms.  Of course getting to those gathering rooms were like walking at midnight without a candle.  In comparison to the hallway, the parlor was awash with warm sunshine and long noonday shadows.  

 

And sitting on a large settee was the love of his life, Alexander.  The sight of the smaller man still took Thomas’s breath away.  He walked over admiring the scene; Alexander’s brown eyes lost in thought as he stared out into the garden, a quill grasped into his hand and a makeshift desk in front of him with a tablet of empty pages at the ready.

 

“Is inspiration out there, Love?” Thomas asked, keeping his voice gentle. 

 

“It certainly isn’t in here,” Alexander quipped, turning to his husband.  “It’s too lovely a day to write about a princess dying.”

 

“What weather would you require for that?”

 

“Thunder!  Lightening!  Rain!  Things that make me utterly miserable.”

 

“Then I would be miserable because you are miserable.”

 

The smaller man scoffed.  “If you keep me too happy, I’ll never be able to right again!  Then how would you feel?”

 

“Would you still be happy?” Thomas asked, a sly grin playing on his face as he sat beside the man he loved.

 

Alex only laughed and leaned against him.  “The gardens are lovely here.  They remind me home.”

 

“I knew they would.  After Atlantic City and that awful place we had, you deserve a lovely garden.”

 

“Peggy says there is even a hedge maze outside!” his voice sounded so much like a boy discussing the prospect of Christmas that it broke Thomas’s heart.

 

“I’m sure there is,” the taller man said, an edge of unease settling on him.  He knew what coming next.

 

“We should go exploring!  Like when were children!  I can have the girls pack us a lunch and-”

 

“Not today Alexander,” Thomas said firmly.  A stone had settled over his heart and the weight felt like it was crushing him.  He could see the smile that had broken out on Alex’s face fall into a uneasy frown.

 

“I feel perfectly fine today, Thomas.  I haven’t had a fainting spell, or a coughing fit.  And the headaches are gone.  It’s not even that hot outside!  Can’t we-”

 

“The doctor said to relax after your last fit.  One more day indoors will do you some good.  Besides I have to practice for that silly Welcome Gala ‘dear cousin’ Gilbert is throwing.”

 

“You can practice anytime!” Alex whined.  Tears were forming in his eyes and the musician immediately brought his hand to his cheek to wipe them away before they fell.  “We’re so far away from home, Thomas.  I hate it.  I just want things to be like they were.”

 

“They can’t,” the words broke as soon as they left Thomas’s lips and he gathered up his husband to hold him through the wave of tears.  

 

When the Alex finally quieted, he asked with a little hiccup, “Can we go out tomorrow,” adding quickly, “weather permitting?”   

 

The taller man nodded, knowing he couldn’t refuse.  It wasn’t just the health concerns that made him nervous about going out into the gardens.  It was the memories that would come sliding back unbidden.  Not that needed any help with that...


	3. Chapter 3

Martha Washington may not have been youngest or prettiest belle of this ball, but she could still dazzle a room.  In her midnight blue party dress and radiant smile, the small woman glided around the room with a series of chuckles and ready quips.  Subtly, without most people realizing it, she would move one person from one group to another, circulating people and interests to the right network; the perfect politician’s wife.  When that perfect hostess came upon the group of four that was Aaron, John, Hercules, and Theodosia, her eyes were still warm and welcoming as she shepherded them around.

 

“It is so great to see you Mr. Burr!  I hope the detective agency is not keeping you too busy,” Martha spoke as she moved them along the throngs of people at the gala, expertly avoiding women’s dresses and men’s coat tails.

 

“Fortunately the city seems to have given up on crime for the moment.  Maybe it’s permanent, thanks to the efforts of your husband,” Aaron replied, not getting through the mass of people as easily as the small hostess.  From the muttered apologies and curses from beside and behind him, his companions were in a similar circumstance.

 

“Oh, I doubt that!  Though it is wonderful to consider.  When George was police commissioner, I used to joke that the only time the mayor would come over to our house to dine was when there was a crime wave and he wanted to blame my husband for it!  Now that he’s mayor, George makes sure that Dear Mr. Adams never feels like he is the cause of such calamity!”

 

“How is Mr. Adams doing with his race for mayor?”

 

“Now, Mr. Burr!  I am a busy woman! I don’t keep up with something as petty as politics!”  Martha fixed the detective with her largest and most sincere grin.

 

“MR. BURR!  MR. LAURENS!  How good to see you both!  Ah!  And Miss Theodosia!  And the talented Mr. Mulligan!  What luck!” came the booming voice of George Washington before Aaron could respond.

 

Where Mrs. Washington was short and moved in patterns around the room, that she already taken up again without the band of four, her husband was tall and rooted to his spot in the gala as a tree.  He laughed good naturedly as they all exchanged greetings, a still Southern twang in his voice as he told a small joke that made them feel more at ease.  The man had an impressive resume; a general turned police officer then quickly police chief.  Through his own brilliance and a few choice politically thrown galas like this one, he had been made commissioner where he had succeeded and gained city and county wide popularity.  The mayorship seemed only natural after that, and so it seemed did governorship.  He was so well liked that he had handpicked his successor to follow him along his path; John Adams.  The man may not have been as physically imposing as Washington, or as charming at parties (he was what was kindly referred to as ‘a stick in the mud’), but he was brilliant and thoughtful.  And where socially he fell down, his wife was more than willing to pick up the slack.

 

That wife, Mrs. Abigail Adams was currently orbiting around Washington like some green comet.  She came into view after a few politie moments to let Washington ask John about his father, ‘old army friends and school chums’, before moving in.  “If it isn’t Mr. Burr!  What good fortune to find you here!  I thought you would be out on some case that my husband’s police are too lazy solve themselves.”

 

“Actually Mrs. Adams, I’ve been in badly need of work.  If there is anyone you can think of that would be in need of my services,” Aaron trailed off, seeing Abigail’s mind already at work.

 

“I may.  Follow me!” the middle aged plain faced woman said, giving a small polite nod to Mr. Washington, who only chuckled as once again the four were dragged through the gala.

 

After an hour, Aaron had had it with party going.  After Abigail had whisked them away from Washington on the pretence of finding them clients, she had immediately traded them to Professor Benjamin Franklin, the most prominent of the local university’s faculty.  They had been drawn into a small lecture about philosophy until the esteemed professor had been taken with Widow Applegate and traded them to Bishop Wakefield.  Wakefield had opined on women leaving their sacred duty of being mothers and wives, and Theodosia had practically sought out Lafayette and Adrienne to rescue them.  Their saviors had come eventually, if only for the Marquis to latch onto Hercules and demand a dance from his favorite ‘and most handsome’ tailor.  After the very flustered tailor was separated from the pack, the three were once again placed in the front of the gala to be once again led by Mrs. Washington, assuring them that food was coming soon.

 

“I need to sit down,” Aaron finally admitted when they appeared once more in front of the esteemed Mr. Washington.

 

“I need something to drink,” Theodosia added, swallowing thickly to show how dry her throat was.

 

“I need to go to the bathroom,” John grumbled, but not too loudly.

 

Washington took pity on the three and directed them to their separate desires: the right hallway for John, the back parlor for Theodosia, and, “The left hall should be quite empty.  It's where we keep the family parlor.  Should be much quieter.”  The three nodded, thanked their host, and went their separate ways.

 

The left hall indeed was much quieter as well as dark.  Aaron had not realized how loud the gathering had been he had stepped out of it.  Behind him, he could hear the gentle rumble of conversation, occasionally punctuated by loud laughter and shouts of names as people sought out people they knew.  The young man sighed as he found the only unlocked door.  Finally, some peace and quiet without peo-

 

“Oh hello!  I’m sorry, have they asked for me?”  There was already in the small barely lit family parlor.  A tall rather attractive man with dark curls and deep brown eyes.  He looked rather uneasily as Aaron slipped inside, his well tailored suit appearing to be either a rich purple or black in the small light from the singular lamp in the room.

 

“Nobody sent me.  I’m just here to get away from...everything,” detective said in way of answer as he took his seat on one of the small chairs provided.

 

“Ah,” the stranger said, visibly relaxing.  “I understand how you feel.  Galas were never my thing, but I was sort of demanded to come.  No way out.”

 

Aaron nodded.  “We’re in the same boat.  I’m friends with the Marquis, and if he demands you to come, you are going to show up whether you like it or not.”

 

“Good to know that Gilbert doesn’t only manhandle me!” the other laughed.  They lapsed into uneasy silence, both trying to be polite to the other’s want to be alone, but both wanting to reach out and talk to someone.  It was still a party after all!  

 

It was the detective who finally cut through the silence.  “My grandfather hated parties.  He was a preacher and anything with alcohol, dancing, and the potential of enjoyment was the devil’s work.  I didn’t a party until I was in college.  And I was always told I looked too serious for them.”

 

“Your grandfather sounds delightful,” the stranger said sarcastically.  “I just never got used to large crowds of people which is strange because of how large my family is.  But I hated it.  All those people.  Pushing close to you.  Asking you questions, wanting you to say something clever on the spot like.  Judging your every step.”  He shock his head.  “I have gotten better, but most galas or parties above ten people one can find me in rooms like this one.”

 

“Here’s to rooms like this one,” Aaron said with a smile, raising an imaginary goblet.  

 

The stranger chuckled as he reached into his inner coat pocket.  “Do you mind if I smoke?  It’s not often that I can.”

 

He waved a hand to indicate for the stranger to go ahead.  As the man drew out a thin cigar and lit it, he asked, “Spouse fussy about the curtains?”

 

The dark haired man shook his head as he took a long drag.  “My husband has a very weak heart and lungs.  Even the smell makes him weak.  So I try to avoid it, but at times like these…” He shrugged to emphasis his point.

 

“How does he fair in gatherings like these?”

 

“When he is well, he shines.  He adores people.  He’d probably outwit most of the people out there.  And everyone would simply find him charming.  But on evenings such as this one, when he has been feeling faint, he stays in bed.”  The stranger flicked the cigar slightly, allowing a few ashes to collect in a glass plate beside him.  “Are you married?”

 

“I’m afraid not,” Aaron settled back into his chair, feeling strangely comfortable around the man.  Like he was catching up with an old friend.

 

The man only hummed at that and continued to smoke in seemingly contentment.  Conversation waxed and waned over the course of an hour before they were interrupted by the sound of urgent footsteps down the corridor.  A woman in a pink party gown and serious expression on her lovely face entered the small room.

 

“Mr. Jefferson, they are asking you to perform the set now before they have everyone sit for dinner.  Mrs. Washington also wants to apologize again for how late dinner is,” she said to the stranger, who was now snuffing how his cigarette.

 

“Thank you, Angelica.  I thought she had forgotten about food altogether for a few minutes there,” Thomas Jefferson chuckled, standing and straightening his suit.  He turned to his companion.  “I’m sure you now know who I am.  But I do not know your name, new friend.”

 

“Burr.  Aaron Burr.”

 

“Well Mr. Burr, I hope to see you again,” and with that the musician bowed and left the room.  For a minutes there was nothing but the sound of the still room and the distant sound of cheers as the guest of honor rejoined the party.  Then, the sound of a distant haunting piano melody could be heard.  

 

It sounded, from this distance, like a prayer.

 

****

 

Maria Reynolds watched as Mr. Harold rolled off the bed and began to pick up his clothing from the floor with a disinterested gaze.  She leaned over to the bedside table and took the wet rag from basin to clean in between her legs.  Mr, Harold grumbled as he fussed with his pants and buttons, before reaching to his pocket to draw out his money purse.

 

“How much?” he asked.

 

“Fifteen, same as always,” she replied, adjusting the red chemise on over her legs and bosom so once more she was covered.

 

“Thought it would be less, coming here instead of having you at the house,” he muttered, but left the money on another side table before leaving without another word.

 

Maria glided over to the money like a queen, gathering it up in her palm and slowly counting it.  When she was satisfied that it was all there, she walked out into the upper hallway of  _ The Pink Umbrella _ .  The all down the hall she could hear the sounds of moans and sighs of pleasure, real or imagined, and downstairs she could hear the shouts of gamblers.  One lone singer was trying to fight to be heard over the din, but everyone was ignoring her in favor of the game.  The scarlet woman moved through the hall, barefoot and lovely, not making eye contact with a soul of the men and women who dove in and out of the rooms.  

 

She finally came to room marked with a crudely made sign that read ‘Management’, and knocked.  There was a low curse and the sound of pounding footsteps before James Reynolds answered the door, only opening it wide enough for his head to be stuck through.

 

“Got some cheek interrupting a man’s meeting, Slut.  What you got for me?” her husband jeered at her.

 

“Mr. Harold just left.  I got his money,” she lifted her hand to show him.

 

He scowled.  “I’m working us a deal that is worth a million Mr. Harolds!  Don’t you go interrupting me or I swear to God-”

 

There was a series of sneezes from inside the room behind James and a quiet voice asked, “Mr. Reynolds, I don’t have all day.  My employer is very busy.  Do you have the individuals we require or should I go elsewhere?”

 

Reynolds looked back into the room and made his voice as subservient and apologetic as possible.  “I’m so sorry Mr. Paine!  I have a few of those people we discussed, and my darling wife over here can round them up for you now.  I’ll keep a list of those I think suitable and you can come and collect them as your employer see fit!  No need to go anywhere else.  All my ‘pearls’ are top notch, even the one’s who don’t shine as well as the others,” he laughed nervously before turning back to Maria.

 

“Go get Claire, Rose, and Jack.  Tell them I found them good employment with a roof over their heads.  Tell them if they do as they're told, their debt will be cleared in no time.  I want them here in an hour.  Don’t make me mark up that pretty face of yours again.” 

 

And with that, the door was slammed in her face, leaving her in the hallway of the brothel with her orders, her misery, and the distant sound of Mr. Paine’s sneezes.    


	4. Chapter 4

Summer had picked up for both Burr’s detective agency and Hercules’s tailor shop.  Clients seeking counsel from the investigators had to pick their way through afternoon shoppers feeling fabric samples and discussing colors.  Many were neighbors of the those who were in the tailor shop and would be somewhat late to their appointment and had to be ushered away by Theodosia, because they would stop and chat.  Some even would began to shop as well, abandoning their pursuit of who stole their favorite locket in favor of a new coat or dress.

 

Not the Fitzpatrick’s.  The Fitzpatrick's would probably never be able to afford even one cravat that Hercules’s made between them, nor ever have an occasion to wear it.  Mr. Fitzpatrick and his oldest son were dockworkers, and filled the Aaron’s whole office with the smell of sweat, fish, and resentment as they stood flanking Mrs. Fitzpatrick and her restless gaggle of young children.  The police had sent the family, eleven in total, to Aaron and John along with the money needed to pay for appointment.  Anything so they didn’t have to tell the poor woman no…

 

Mrs. Fitzpatrick was a plain face chubby woman with a kind hopeful face, in stark contrast to the look of utter surrender her husband wore.  She was wearing her Sunday best, a slightly worn blue and white dress and her hair was in a brown and gray bun.  Her hands were clasped in prayer in front of her, ignoring the children who were fussing about her and John trying to offer them some sandwiches to calm down.  

 

When she spoke, her voice was uncultured but pleading:  “A year ago, our oldest Claire decided it was high time she got a job.  She’s a good girl, Mr. Burr.  Ain’t been in any trouble.  Prettiest singing voice you ever heard.  Our Father John, he said that she could have been in the Bishop’s choir if she had the schooling.  So when she goes out to get a job, she tells me and Herbert, she tells us, ‘Pa.  Ma.  I’m gonna get me a job at performance halls in downtown.’  Oh, she could do that if she wanted.  They would be lucky to have here!  Couldn’t she, Herb?  Couldn’t she sing in one of those fancy halls downtown?”

 

Mr. Fitzpatrick grunted in agreement, not saying a word beyond that.

 

She continued, turning back with her large eyes towards Aaron, “Well, she went uptown sir and she came back with a job not at the performance halls down there, but at a bar down by the docks.   _ The Pink Umbrella _ .  Ever heard of it, sir?”

 

“I’m afraid I have not,” Burr confessed, trying to give his best reassuring smile.

 

“ ‘ Course a good man like you ain’t heard of it,” The Fitzpatrick’s son growled but was shushed by his mother.

 

“It ain’t the most respectable place, but it you are performer you have to start somewhere.  That’s what Claire said.  She’s a good girl, Mr. Burr.  All my children are raised with the Bible and knowing the law.  She’s a good girl.  That’s why she picked up an extra job at the  _ Umbrella _ as a card girl.  I taught her math, sir and she’s got a head for numbers.  Boss must have seen it too.  She’s a good girl, Mr. Burr.” Mrs Fitzpatrick looked at him with her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

 

“If she is your daughter, I’m sure she is,” was all he could say in response.

 

“She moved out of our place into the  _ Umbrella _ a few months ago.  I was a little silly.  There’s other stuff happening there.  Of people selling their bodies.  People using opium.  And I tried to get her to quit.  And she...left.  Moved in that place and worked there.  But she would always come home for Sunday roast.  Never missed a Sunday roast.  Family tradition.  No work on Sunday.  She’s a good girl.

 

“ ‘Cept two Sunday’s ago Claire didn’t come.  I think nothing of it.  Could be tired, or have a sweetheart and she’s spending the day with them.  But this Sunday, she ain’t come either!  I get to thinking something is wrong.  My girl never misses a Sunday meal.  They don’t eat well, performers.  She’s thin as a rail.  So I go and I find the wife of the owner of the place on her way to the market, and I say ‘Where my Claire at?’  And she says, ‘Your Claire ain’t working for us any more.  Got got too much into the gambling.’  Now that ain’t my girl, so I tell that harpy, ‘My girl is a good girl.  She ain’t the sort.’  And that...woman, she says, ‘She racked up quite the debt.  She’s gonna have to pay it back.’”  Mrs. Fitzpatrick shook her head.  “Not my girl.  Something’s happened to her.  Something’s about to happen to her.  A mother knows, Mr. Burr.  My girl is a good girl.  Told the police that when we went to them and a few of them asked if she was a gambler.  Said lots of card girls are.  Mr. Burr, please!  I need to find my Claire!  Before something bad happens to her!”

 

Aaron looked at the motherly face, now with tears streaming down her face as she looked at him pleadingly.  He also took stock of the wary eyes of Mr. Fitzpatrick and his son on either side of her.  There was another side to this story.  Another side that Mrs. Fitzpatrick was not willing to see or acknowledge.  That even good girls can become gamblers.  That good people under the right amount of pressure and circumstances could fall from grace.  _  For wasn’t Lucifer the most beautiful of God’s angels? _

 

But all he said was, “I will do anything in my power to gather information.”

 

The woman was so relieved as he said those words, that she let out a little sob that she must have been holding in.  With the help of her husband and son she stood and reached for the detective, grasping his hands.  She kept blessing him as she was escorted out, being trailed by her younger children.

 

“You should have told her,” John said, leaning back as he sat beside Aaron.

 

“Nothing I could tell her would change her mind.  Her Claire probably got her contract sold to a different establishment.  Or she’s working as prostitute to pay off her debt.  I’m sure her not coming home for Sunday dinner is her too embarrassed at her circumstances.”  As spoke, Theodosia had entered bringing a few papers and a rush of clean air.  “Did you listen to what happened, Theo?”

 

The woman nodded sadly, “Why did Adams send us this case?  I mean, what can we do?”

 

“What can we do?  Nothing.  But Adams did not send us this case.  That was probably Monroe, probably too cowardly and too ‘busy’ to look a mother in the eye,” Aaron sighed and rubbed his temples as he took the papers from his secretary.  The words seemed to swim in the page and form the words, ‘good girl’.  He shook his head.  “Do you think it’s too early to go bother Hercules for some tea?”

 

“Never too early!” John grinned hopping out of his seat.  Theo smiled and led the way down the stairs to the tailor’s shop.

 

There was only two customers in the shop downstairs, female couple flirting over a piece a velvet.  Hercules seemed underwhelmed by his chances of making an actual purchase that he welcomed the trio downstairs with open arms.  

 

He was just about to go back and put a kettle of tea on when a black haired woman in a light blue dress ran in a panicked state, yelling, “PLEASE!  I NEED YOUR HELP!  WON’T SOMEONE HELP US!”

 

“What is it?!  What do you need?” John said, leaping into action.

 

“My charge is having having an attack!  I need someone to help me support him inside!”  Then almost as though it just occurred to her, “Can we please rest here until I can get in contact with my other employer?”

 

“Of course!” Hercules said, pulling the settee out and moving bolts of fabric off it.  

 

John left with the woman and returned a few moments later with short thin man, wheezing as though each breath was a struggle.  They placed him onto the couch provided and the woman began to instruct the man through a breathing ritual.  The man looked fairly young, close to Aaron’s age with large mocha brown eyes and full lips.  His tan skin was rather pale and his long hair hung about his shoulders in wavy curls.  A pair of small reading glasses dangling on a chain around his neck, rising and falling to the rapid movements of the young man’s chest.  

 

As the attack seemed to lessen, the woman turned those assembled in the tailor shop and asked, “Can someone please go up the road to the  _ Revere Silver Shop and Restoration _ and find Mr. Jefferson or Mr. Madison?  Tell them Mr. Hamilton is has had an attack.  Tell them we are here waiting for them and we need a carriage home.”

 

“We’ll go,” one of the female couple said, while the other nodded.

 

As they left, Mr. Hamilton gave a chuckle as he coughed and wheezed.  “Well, this is one way to stop Thomas from buying anything too extravagant, wouldn’t you say Betsey?”

 

“How does your head feel?”

 

“I think you should ask more about my lungs.”

 

“Fine.  How does your lungs feel?”

 

“Better now they are not on fire,” he laughed and gave another sputtering cough.  Brown eyes looked around the group of four who were assembled around him.  “Who owns this establishment?”

 

“I own the tailor shop, sir,” Hercules said, stepping forward with a little bow.  He waved to Aaron, John, and Theodosia.  “These are my friends and they work on the third floor at a detective agency.”

 

“I’m sorry I chased away any customers or clients.  I could compensate you if need be.”

 

“No, no!  It’s fine.  Your health is far more important!”

 

“This is my health on regular basis!  It’s either this or fainting spells,” Mr. Hamilton let out another cough and relaxed onto the settee.

 

“Excuse me,” Aaron spoke up, curiosity burning him up inside, “but are you Alexander Hamilton, Mr. Thomas Jefferson’s husband?”

 

There was another mirthful chuckle, one that made the entire room relax and want to join in.  “It would be easier if I had taken his name, but can you imagine?  ‘Alexander Jefferson’?  Doesn’t sound right.  Doesn’t flow off the tongue.  There’s always ‘Alexander Hamilton-Jefferson’. But that’s just greedy, all those letters.”  He smiled, a warm beautiful smile.  “So yes, I am Alexander Hamilton.  You can call me Alex or Alexander, though.  I hate formality, get in the way of friendships.  And this lovely clucking mother hen here is Elizabeth Schuyler.  She is my companion, nurse, thorn in my side…”

 

Elizabeth swatted Alexander playfully, looking much calmer than she had minutes ago, extending her hand as graceful as a princess, “Eliza.”

 

“Well, I am Aaron Burr.  To my right is my assistant, John Laurens, and to my left is my secretary Theodosia Prevost.  And you have already met the tailor, Hercules Mulligan.”

 

“Ah!  The famous Mr. Hercules Mulligan that the Marquis speaks so much about.  You need no introduction, with all I’ve heard with our lovesick cousin,” Alex giggled, as the aforementioned tailor blushed.

 

“It is good to put a name with a face,” Aaron said with a laugh of his own.  “Your husband said you were charming.”

 

The small man looked at the detective with more curious interest.  “You know my husband?”

 

“We spoke briefly at his Welcome Gala in the Washingtons’ family parlor.”

 

“Ah!  You were the one that kept him company!  He is so very shy when it comes to gatherings.  If it wasn’t to tell me stories and gossip, he would probably would stay home.  He worries about leaving me alone, but I worry about him being alone.”

 

Almost as though he was summoned by being spoken of, the shop door flew open and Thomas Jefferson ran in looking distressed and in disarray.  His eyes fell onto Alex and he let out a small gasp of relief as he ran over and gathered the little man into this arms, over the protests of Eliza.

 

“Oh darling, I shouldn’t have let you come with me when I heard you wheezing at breakfast.  I should have sent you home right after lunch with the Washingtons!  Are you alright?  Are you feeling faint?  Do I need to-”

 

“I’m fine, love!  Please calm down!  You’ll work us both into a state.  And one of us can’t afford to have another one today,” Alexander smiled and fell deeper into the embrace.

 

“What were you even doing, exploring the shops alone?!  If you wanted anything, I could have bought it for you.  You know that!”

 

“I wasn’t alone.  And unlike you, I have yet to really see our new city.”

 

Jefferson scoffed, but said no more on the subject he obviously wanted to continue.  Instead, he looked around the shop.  “Thank you for your hospitality.  I am in your debt Mister…”

 

“This is Hercules Mulligan!  The one Gilbert keeps going on about!” Alex piped up.  He waved a hand towards Aaron.  “And this is the man you were talking about from the Gala.  Isn’t that just a wonderful happenstance!”

 

“Don’t over excite yourself, Alex,” Eliza said quietly as she stood.

 

“Small world and big wonders,” Aaron shrugged.

 

“I suppose it is true,” the musician agreed thoughtfully.  “Well in any case, I still must repay you.  Both of you, it seems.  Once the renovations are done on my new residence I shall extend an invitation to a dinner to you.  It would be our pleasure to see you again.”  

 

“Until we meet again,” Alex waved goodbye as the three left the shop, his smile dazzling them as he left the room.

 

*****

 

“Is  **he** …?” Thomas knew the answer even before he asked, but still the words came unbidden.

 

Peggy and Eliza gave him sullen nods, flinching as a scream drifted up from the basement.  “We sent the workmen home.”  The youngest sister’s voice was high pitched whisper.

 

“How long?”

 

“Two hours,” Eliza shrugged and then whimpered as another scream came up from the basement.

 

The musician looked at the two women, then at the door that led to the basement.  He took a deep breath and continued on his way, opening and shutting it tightly behind him.

 

There was barely any light in the basement, and what light there was made  **his** shadow large and twisted.  Made Thomas recall when he met  **him** all those years ago as a boy.  There was a woman crying, praying, dying….

 

**“Come now, Rose!  You have more spunk in you than that!” He** was saying as Thomas descended the stairs slowly.   **“Stop that incessant praying.  It makes my ears ache.  Do I need to take your foot as well as your hand.  You’re running out off of those, you know.”  He** and turned, spotting Thomas halfway down the stairs.   **He** gave a feral grin.   **“Look, Rose!  You were far too loud for Mr. Jefferson’s taste.  He’s come to tell us to be quiet with our fun.”**

 

Thomas shook his head, trying to ignore the pathetic lump behind the  **resident** , instead trying to address  **him** with a confidence he did not feel.  “I was hoping to have the company of my husband for dinner.”

 

The  **resident** barked out a laugh.   **“He’s gone!  Asleep!  After all the stress his widdle heart had today!  Ha!  But you knew that, didn’t you Tommy Boy.  You want something else.  Something even more delicious…”**

 

“I don’t know what you mean!” Thomas tried to look affronted rather than terrified.  “If you wish you may cease...this...and have din-”

 

**“This is my dinner.  Isn’t that right, Rose?”**

 

“P-please..sir...h-hel-”

 

The  **resident** let out a growl of annoyance and  **he** turned towards the lump.  There was the sound of bones breaking and bloodcurdling scream before  **he** turned back towards the musician.  Even in this low light, he could see coal black glittering eyes staring up at him.   **“You’re bothering me, Mr. Jefferson.  But I will forgive you this one time, if you wait in your room for me to finish...my amusement.  Then we may play your silly game of ‘marriage’.”  He** laughed cruelly.   **“I won’t leave you too bruised when I return him to you.”**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come to my tumblr red-shadow-wolf-19 and bug me with questions and such. Or leave a comment here if you prefer. :)

_ Jane Jefferson smoothed out her dress unconsciously as she spoke to Miss Marie.  “I want them all presentable by dinner.  Thomas and Lucy are old enough to formally greet her in the parlor but Peter, Jane, and Martha are too fussy and they may ask uncomfortable questions of her and her boys.  I will not have that.” _

 

_ The old governess nodded her understanding.  “It’s just terrible, though?  That woman, what she and her boys been through.  That man should be ashamed of himself.” _

 

_ Jane smoothed down a non-existent wrinkle on her dress once more over her pregnant belly, before turning to her two oldest children.  “Come along.  Tommy.  Lucy.  We have to greet our guests.” _

 

_ Following after his mother, six year old Thomas Jefferson was not looking forward to anymore people at Monticello.  There was already his parents, siblings, his uncle and his latest wife who constantly visited, the servants, and many of the servants families.  The entire estate was city onto itself!  And his mother had invited an old girlhood friend to stay with them for awhile with her children.  Thomas and his sister Lucy had listened in their parents’ bedroom door as his mother had explained the urgency of this, Rachel Faucette Hamilton’s situation.   _

 

_ He could still hear his father say in his slow ponderous voice, “If she cares for those boys she would divorce the son of a bitch before he does something to them.  If he hits his spouse-” _

 

_ “I’m going to urge her to do that, but right now I want her to be safe.  A fortnight or so here is all I ask for, Peter.” _

 

_ “If and when she leaves that lous she may stay as long as she likes, but for now I will only offer her a month.  A day over, and I will have to call the authorities,” Peter Jefferson had warned, but his voice betrayed the emptiness of that threat. _

 

_ Thomas had not truly understood what most of what they said meant, besides someone was coming to stay with them awhile, but that was all he really needed to know.  But he wasn’t about to make throw a tantrum about this woman coming.  His parents were loving, affectionate, and kind with their children, his father especially was simply push over when it came to his eldest.  But the boy was not going to put it past his father to bring out the switch if that same eldest embarrassed him in front of a guest. _

 

_ Monticello’s main parlor warm and inviting, with cream colors and views of the grounds and forest beyond.  As in most of the rooms there was some instrument belonging to either Jane or Peter; in this room for example there was Jane’s cello.  Jane, Thomas, and Lucy entered together greeting Peter as they did so.  The head of the house tussled his children’s heads affectionately before turning to his butler. _

 

_ “You may send them in now, Cecil,” he said with a curt little nod, which was returned as the small man turned to the door and ushered their guests. _

 

_ Rachel Faucette Hamilton was beautiful, with deep green eyes that one could drown in, wavy brown curls,and tan skin.  Her face had an air of carefree ease that make one almost forget that her left cheek was horribly swollen and despite her stiff tall collar, one could still see bruise around her neck. _

 

_ Green eyes met Jane’s cinnamon and the two women were girls once more, crying out for one another as they embraced and speaking rapidly to one another.  They broke after a few moments as Rachel stepped forward and Jane said in a breathless but still formal voice, “Peter, this is Rachel.  My dearest school friend.” _

 

_ She curtseyed, and he kissed her hand.  “A pleasure to meet a friend of Jane’s.  Though I wish we could have met under different circumstances.” _

 

_ “God works in mysterious ways,” the woman said, a bit with an edge of sadness.  Something for a moment hung in the air, something that the children in the room did not yet fully grasp.  Something no children should have to fully grasp.  After a few moments of this awkward silence, Rachel seemed to recover and look towards Thomas and Lucy.  “Are these your children?” _

 

_ “Only two of them,” Peter chuckled.  “You will meet the younger one’s at dinner.  Or in another two months once they make their arrival.” _

 

_ Thomas caught sight of his mother behind Rachel making motions to speak, so he nervously stepped forward and bowed, telling the floor, “I’m Thomas.  I’m six, Mrs. Hamilton.” _

 

_ “Oh sweet dear, you can call me simply Rachel.  I want us to be friends!” _

 

_ The boy nervously nodded and shuffled back as his sister tottered forward and sloppily curtseyed, “I’m Lucy, Miss Rachel!  I’m five!” _

 

_ “Aren’t you both the sweetest!” Rachel cooed.  She turned back to behind her and waved over two small figures that shuffled forward.  The figures were two small boys in ill fitting clothes.  As they stepped forward, Thomas could hear his father make an involuntary ‘tssking’ noise, but no one made comment on it.  “Come one, you two.  These are going to be your best friends while we stay here.  Say hello.” _

 

_ What seemed like the oldest, the taller of two boys stepped toward, his brown hair already tied back like a gentlemen and his green eyes already as cold as most adults.  “My name is James Hamilton.  I am seven years old.  Thank you for allowing us to stay.”  His greeting was eerily formal for one so young, and it made the entire room even more uncomfortable. _

 

_ Rachel nervously laughed as she patted James’s shoulder.  “He’s a serious one, my Jay.  Always the little man about the house.”  She shifted uneasily before gently prodding the youngest out into the center of the room. _

 

_ Thomas felt his heart stop.  Maybe it was deep brown eyes that had were so dazzling.  Or the shy smile that greeted him from behind the overly large book that was clutched before the little boy like a teddy.  Or the flush in the already rosy cheeks as their eyes met from across the room.  All Thomas knew was that he had felt like he had been hit by a bolt of lightening when the tiny yet confident voice said, “I’m Alexander Hamilton.  I’m three.  Do you guys have any books dragons?” _

 

****

 

Thomas’s eyes opened to the morning sunlight streaming into Widow Ross’s mansion.  The mansion had no formal name, and he doubted he would live here long enough to give it a proper one.  Years had passed since the first time he had met Alexander.  Years and so much had passed. 

 

He turned and found his little husband, asleep wrapped around a pillow, small adorable snores escaping him.  He appeared to be sleeping fine.  Thomas brushed a brown lock of hair from his eyes and kissed his cheek, receiving only a mumble in response.  Let him sleep.  He needed it.

 

Getting out of bed was hard.  His body ached and he was sure he was walking with pretty noticeable limp, but he didn’t care.  He briefly glanced at the vanity on the opposite side of the large master bedroom, taking stock of a few minor bruises and scratches, but nothing that couldn’t be explained away.  He found a pair of trousers and a linen shirt to throw on and with as much dignity as he could muster, he entered to adjoining music room. 

 

If there was one thing that Thomas took away from his upbringing was his love of music.  It was why he had become a musician.  And just like his childhood home, he had made sure that his vast collection of instruments were scattered throughout the house for easy access, if the mood struck him.  The music room right beside his and Alex’s rooms was very special.  It contained his father’s study piano, his mother’s cello, and his uncle’s flute.  These items were too sentimental to bring out and impress guests with, but they helped Thomas compose, so they were kept close at all times.  When the couple and their household had to move, they were the last instruments to be packed, and they were the first formally unpacked.

 

Thomas sat at the piano and began with scales, a habit picked up from watching his tutor practice.  Soon he lost himself, following some melody in his head as it walked him back to Monticello and the Queen’s State.  To humid nights and fireflies and the sound of children’s laughter.  Of him and Alex running through a wood.  Of Miss Marie yelling after them.  Of everyone together.  Of a time before…

 

“I like that song.”  Thomas only missed one note as he turned back to find Alex in the doorway, still in his sleeping chemise and his hair mussed from sleep.

 

“I do too,” he replied as the small man entered the room and settled on the piano bench beside him.  “I think Mr. Black taught it to me when I was seven.  Or it could have been Papa.  Not sure.  God, it’s been years.”

 

Alex smiled as he leaned on the taller man’s shoulder, “I remember Mr. Black hated me.  I couldn’t sit still and learn how to play anything.  I even failed at drums!  Oh, he kept threatening to retire when he found out we were visiting!”

 

“That was until he found out you could sing.  Tears of joy all around.  ‘He’s not talentless after all!’ I think were his exact words.”

 

“No!”

 

“Something to that effect.”

 

The brown haired snorted, “Sounds very much like him.”  There was a pause and then, a very nervous voice asked.  “D-did I...did I have fit last night?”

 

Thomas kept playing, focusing his attention on every note that he struck.  “A few hours after we came home, yes.  I put you to bed after trying to rouse your for dinner.  You were incapable of answering me.”

 

Alexander nodded sadly.  “I don’t remember any of that.  I just remember coming home...and having such a headache.  It hurt so much.  And then a girl- yes a girl.  One of the new girls from the agency!  She came by and...I don’t remember.”

 

Thomas nodded, still playing though the tempo had quickened slightly, “She found you and informed us.  Unfortunately, this morning she had to be called back by the agency.  I gave her a formal recommendation.”

 

“That’s good,” Alex said with a yawn.  “I would hate for her to think ill of us after all the hard work she put in.”  For a moment there was only the sound of the piano and the early morning bird calls before there was a gasp and the brown haired man gripped the other’s wrist effectively stopping the song.  “YOUR WRIST!”

 

The musician didn’t understand for a moment until it was offered up for him to see.  Wrapped around his wrist was a darkening bruise in the shape of a..

 

“Where did you get it?!  Did something happen?!  Did you go to a gambling den?!”  Alex was getting very excited and his breaths were coming in little gasps as he worked himself into a state.

 

“Hush!  Hush, darling!  No need for all this!  Breathe with me.  In one two three….out one two three….again….in one two three….out one two three,” Thomas soothed, mentally cursing  **him** for the night before before.  Really though, he thought vaguely, he should be cursing himself.  “It’s nothing, dove.  This bruise is nothing.  I was foolish yesterday when I sat up with the driver of the coach and I wrapped the reins of the horses around my wrist, that’s all.  You know how fast I like to make those brutes go.  Come now, dry your eyes.”

 

Alex wiped his eyes as he whimpered, “That scared me, Thomas!  If someone hurt you...I don’t know what I would do.  I promised....I promised that you and Jay would never be hurt and after…”

 

“Hush.  I’m fine.  Now go get dressed for breakfast,” he smiled at his little husband who weakly smiled back.  He didn’t let him see the look of guilt wash over him when his back was turned.

 

****

 

_ “Think I caught somethin’!” _

 

_ “You ain’t caught shit all day, now few feet from dock you say you caught somethin’?!  You are rat liar that’s what you are.” _

 

_ “No!  Honest Sid!  I caught somethin’!  Somethin’ big!  Look at that shape!” _

 

_ “Well I’ll be...don’t just stand there reel that bitch in!” _

 

_ “I’m trying but it’s heavy!” _

 

_ “Well it seems not to be putting up a struggle.  Maybe you found some trash, Ben.  Keep reeling...keep reeling...keep reel- oh my god…” _

 

_ “What?!  Is it trash?!  Is it a fish?!” _

 

_ “It’s a body…oh god...It’s a body!” _

 

_ “Let me see- oh god!  It is...I’m going to be sick.” _

 

_ “Pull it in.  Someone flag down a copper.  God damnit.  It’s a woman.” _

 

_ “I think...I think I recognize her…oh god...where’s the rest of her…” _

 

_ “I think I do too...God...no one get Dock Master Dawson.  Keep him busy.  Just get the copper and that’s it.  Can’t let him see.. Can’t let him see his Rosie like this…”  _


	6. Chapter 6

To succeed in New Island City, one had to be as talented as Thomas Jefferson, as brilliant as Abigail Adam, as influential as Lafayette, or a mix of the three like George Washington.  Or you had to have enough money to grease the way.  James Monroe was such a man.  Monroe came from an old family of businessmen and politicians.  He had attended university around the same time Burr had, but had little or interest in school unless it was social event where he could gladhand and network.  Despite nearly failing most of his classes, he and his family had been able to ‘charm’ or bribe enough professors into giving him average passing grades with stunning letters of recommendation.  That, and his father and brother’s money, were enough to begin his meteoric rising career in politics.

 

Or it would be if James Monroe hadn’t started his assent at the same time as George Washington.  Money, networking, and ambition occasionally has to bow to actual talent and genuine goodwill.  And with a force like Abigail Adams looking out for her husband and his steady climb after Washington, Monroe was left delayed in the police force, where all promising careers in politics begin New Island City, trailing behind the two men and becoming a near ghost in social gatherings.  But now Washington was leaving to become governor, everyone knew that he was sure to get it.  Adams would become mayor, where he would again shock them with his raw talent and tenacity.  And Monroe, would become the police commissioner, and await his turn to move up the ladder.

 

Aaron and Theodosia entered the nineteenth precinct, the largest and most prominent in the city, keeping their eyes forward and their gaze steady.  Monroe had summed them to hire the small detective agency, but the two of them would not put it past the ambitious cretin to simply summon them to brag to two old school friends.  They were pointed to the top floor and to the only office on the that floor.

 

During the time of Washington, the police chief office of precinct nineteen had been an orderly well oiled machine; assistants coming in with papers and reports unsigned, leaving with another pile signed.  Rarely had the old General taken social visitors in his office, usually directing them to his home to received by his wife.  Adams’s office had been too chaotic for visitors.  The small man rather disliked the inaction of being behind a desk and paced the office as his assistants and detectives briefed him, coming to settle only briefly to sign some paper or ask a question.  Monroe’s office was none that.  It was meant to be for socializing; comfortable chairs, a fully stocked bar, and always a kettle with fresh tea.  Not a scrap of paper littered his desk.  Not an iota of work.  

 

Monroe smiled as the two were shown in.  “Ah, there you two are!  I was worried my message hadn’t gotten to you.  Come in!”  He swept an arm out to the chairs nearest his desk as he stood to shake their hands.

 

“It’s been too long!  You shouldn’t be afraid to come downtown for a visit to see Theo and I,” Aaron lied.  He had little time for the ambitious idiot that smiled broadly at him now, fussing about a kettle.

 

“Oh, I’ve been busy!  I’m sure you know about the election!  Have to hit the payment to make sure all the gray hairs know who to vote for.  And then, well, I’ve had my own little drama.  With the Lee family.  I’m sure you’ve heard…”

 

“Of you courting Charles Lee, yes.  That is one of the many pieces of gossip I hear about you.”

 

“Not just courting.  Why, after the election, don’t be shocked if there isn’t an engagement announcement.”

 

“Would not doubt it.”  

 

“I hope my relationship with Charles isn’t the reason why young Mr. Laurens isn’t here today?”

 

“He’s visiting his father,” Theodosia explained, of course that was a lie as well.  The truth was that John just couldn’t hold his tongue when it came to Monroe.  Not that the other two could blame him.

 

“I hate to be a stick in the mud when it comes socializing, but we are on the clock and we don’t want to waste department resources,” the detective redirected smoothly as perched himself on a chair.  The summer morning was being to warm up as it streamed through the windows behind the large desk and cook the suede chairs.  Burr did not envy Theodosia and her layers of skirts that were demanded of professional women of the time.

 

Monroe nodded, not looking all too bothered.  “Yes, it is rather important business that I bring you here today, dear lady and gentlemen.”  He walked to his desk, opening and drawing out several large folders of papers.  “Tell me what you know of George William Frederick the Third?”

 

Aaron frowned in thought.  “Business magnate and noble from the Old Country.  Owns several businesses around the world.  Married into the Seabury’s, who live in the state’s capital.  Devoted to his mother and was once hospitalized for mania, though it passed.”  He paused.  “Of course that is all the official things.  One does hear rumors.”

 

“What do you hear from rumors?”

 

“Several of the legal gambling operations that Frederick and his mother owns in several cities have connections to several illegal operations.  That he has set up a vast empire in the underworld of whorehouses, gambling dens, and drug rooms.”

 

Monroe nodded as he looked over the files with seeming disinterest.  “That is the long and short of it.  It’s the best worst kept secret in town.  No one has been able to pin anything on him.  Every time someone gets close, the proof just seems to vanish.  Papers go missing, witnesses suddenly forget, the police just suddenly lose interest.  It’s quite troubling.”

 

“Wouldn’t the best thing to do to get rid of such a menace is to make the gambling operations illegal?  At least in New Island City,” Theodosia offered.

 

“And lose out on all that revenue to Atlantic City?  Heavens, no one would be fool enough to do that!” Monroe laughed out loud.  Wiping a tear from his eye he continued, “What concerns most of the large cities now is that it seems that Dear Old George is ‘cleaning house’.”

 

“‘Cleaning house’?”

 

The chief nodded and handed the largest folder to Aaron.  “About five years ago, a low level card boy named Abraham Woodhull and a few friends were able to crush an entire set of whorehouses and opium dealers with all the dirt they were able to give to the police.  Apparently the idea that some low level nobodies were able to inflict so much damage scared Frederick and his mother so badly they began to disappear people, starting in Steel Town, where this spy ring was.  No one is certain whether they got out okay, but several people went missing.  And those they found were….”

 

“Murdered,” Aaron read, the file open to a rough sketch of a man with his chest open and organs plucked out at random.  The artist had shadowed the man’s face, but the description next to the drawing informed the viewer that the man had been missing his eyes and tongue as well.  Another picture, in more painstaking detail, showed a woman with the same injuries, except for her eyes.  The artist had included them as they were described being when she was discovered in an alleyway; open and unseeing, but frozen in terror.   The detective heard a soft gasp beside him, and he knew that Theodosia had leaned over to read the file over his shoulder.

 

“Yes,” Monroe confirmed, not that he needed to.  “These when on in Steel town for quite sometime before they stopped and restarted up in Atlantic City, where Frederick has most of his operations around where he lives.  I’m sure there’s record of that in that file if you-”

 

“Found it,” the detective said, flipping through a sea of dead lifeless, drawn faces.  “How long have they been going on?”

 

“A few years.  Four months was the last murder we know of in Atlantic City.  Alice Long.”

 

The last page of the file folder had a description as well as a copy of orders to send the young woman’s child to the local orphanage.  Aaron closed the folder and put it aside, pushing down a wave a disgust.  “I’m guessing there is a fear that this ‘cleaning spree’ may continue to New Island City?”

 

“We have reason to believe that it may have already arrived,” the chief passed the significantly smaller folder he had taken from his desk.  It contained one more sketched face, one more description of a body, and one more name.  “Rose Dawson was the daughter of the dock master, and had left home to be with her husband working at one of the gambling halls down by the water edge.  Unfortunately, the community down that way has closed ranks and won’t say which one.  They’re scared of reprisals if they talk.  Apparently that’s how much influence those halls have down there.”

 

Aaron looked at what had been left of Rose Dawson and sighed, suddenly feeling old and tired.  “And you want us to find out where she worked so you can investigate Frederick?”

 

Monroe leaned in conspiratorially.  “Not just that.  This spree must be stopped here in New Island City.  Unfortunately, Washington, Adams, and I are bound by the rules of law.  Tricky things, laws.  We cannot declare an investigation without due evidence or even more...bodies on our shores.  We have either.  You, my dear old chum, are not bound by such, law.  You can go across the river to Atlantic City without a warrant and investigate.  You can gain the trust of the common man.  You can report back to me and not have stop to ask if what you did was ‘department procedure’.”

 

“I can be an agent you can be bribed to stop repeatedly because I won’t stop investigating.”

 

The chief smiled and shrugged.  “Well, your salary must come from somewhere.”

 

*****

 

Thomas’s touch was so tender, each kiss soft and gentle as it ghosted over Alex’s skin.  His hands massaged every inch of skin he could safely reach as he made his way to the bedside stand were the lubricant for their lovemaking waited.  Alex understood, in principle, why Thomas was so gentle with him.  His health since his brush with death had not been the greatest.  His lungs sometimes could not supply him with enough air,  his heart would speed up and nearly beat out of his chest, and his fainting spells sometimes left him incapable of safely walking from his bed to the toilet unassisted.  But he was still a man!  He had needs!

 

But it was endearing to see how even now, after all these years, Thomas still fumbled nervously with the oil, and how he asked every step of the way, “Am I hurting you?  You will tell me, won’t you?”  Alex only giggled and kissed his lips in reassurance as finally a finger breached him causing him to moan.

 

He remembered their first time together like this.  Alex had been sixteen and Thomas nineteen, both still living in Monticello.  They had been discovered mid act by Jay, Alex’s brother who had dragged the younger sibling out of the bed and towards their apartments on the far side of the house.

 

“You must keep yourself for marriage,” Jay had piously declared as soon as they away from the Jeffersons’ earshot.

 

“I am going to marry Thomas, so what’s the point?” the younger Hamilton had said with a playful push.

 

Jay had shook his head at that.  “The sacrament of marriage is a sacred ceremony, Alexander.  Honor yourself and mother’s memory by remaining pure for it.  Or at lock a god damned door!”

 

His husband nipped his neck and he was brought back to the here and now.  Thomas had added another finger and Alex felt the familiar ache of wanting to be full get more pronounced.  He whimpered and thrust back onto the fingers in question, trying to articulate he was ready.

 

But he was not ready to the man’s satisfaction, who pulled out slightly and then pressed in three long fingers, scissoring and massaging slowly.  Alexander hated the slow tender pace sometimes.  It made him feel like a piece of porcelain or glass.  Just another priceless item that Thomas moved around with, to be handled gently and taken out to show company.

 

“Please, Thomas!” he whimpered, throwing his arms around his husband’s neck.

 

Thomas indeed did take pity on him, finally taking out his fingers and replacing them, slowly, with his large cock.  Each inch seemed to take years and by the end, Alex was nearly in tears.  The taller man leaned down kissed his eyes.  “I love you, Alexander.”

 

It became a chant with each thrust, the musician rained down love and praise.  Despite his earlier want for less gentleness, each word and thrust made the smaller man feel so dizzy with and so happy that it had him swooning.

 

They came together, moaning into each other’s mouths as they for a kiss.  Thomas was careful once he had calmed down not to collapse onto his smaller husband but instead, he dropped to the side of him with a contented sigh.  Alex moved to his favorite position on Thomas’s chest and snuggled close.

 

As the musician spoke, his entire chest rumbled in a familiar comfortable way.  “The renovations are nearly complete on that blasted fourth story.  Then I suppose I shall do some work on the garden.  As pretty as it is, it’s well overgrown and the gardener can only do so much.”

 

“Once the house is done, can we have visitors?  It’s been awhile since we have entertained.”

 

“I suppose we must.  Just a few people at a time.  I know I promised both the Washingtons and the Adams that after my first concert they could return for a late supper here with us.  And there is always Dear Cousin Gilbert and his his friend Adrienne.  They have hinted they want to ‘chummy’.”

 

“Oh!  Don’t forget Aaron Burr and his friend!  They are friends with Gilbert and they helped me when we went to town.  We must repay them!”

 

“Hush,” Thomas soothed, but he looked thoughtful.  “I suppose Mr. Burr and company would not be a bad choice to have over first.  He seemed a rather quiet fellow but I suspect he may have a sharp wit about him.  It think we both would enjoy that around.  Once the house is complete, naturally.”

 

“Why is it taking so long?” Alex asked, looking up at Thomas with large questing eyes.  “You said it would be a few days ago.  Then you sent the workers home for week.”

 

His husband looked rather uncomfortable, a look he got when he was relaying information he would rather not say.  “It came to my attention that one of the workers was a drug fiend.  I cannot abide by that, so I fired him and told the other workers that they had one week at home to seek new employment or remove any drugs they had on their person.  They will return tomorrow and finish what needs to be done.”

 

Alexander shook his head in disbelief.  “I swear, this agency is just as bad as the last one.  George is the worst when it comes to choosing places.  Maybe we should find somewhere else.”

 

“It’s only two firings.  And we could have the same bad luck anywhere.  Especially now, with it being summer.”

 

“It worries me, though.”

 

“I know,” Thomas said, kissing Alex’s head.  Once more he had the feeling of being a little fragile doll.  And the affairs of the house were simply too big and too complex for him to worry himself with.


End file.
